Chaitali Sengupta is an emotive poet with a heart that feels, expresses and tries to heal. Compassion is woven into beautiful images that gives shape to the pain and the promise of healing. Scars are versified as a seed that grows and gives solace to the heart. The depth of the phrase ‘informed scars’ rings a bell in the reader, reminding of past associations. But sometimes the sorrow is too deep to negotiate and it is difficult to keep up hope. In ‘Home in after life’ the images are violently cold and frosty with no inkling of the warmth of home. The poet shatters all illusions of homecoming with an interrogation.
Whisper your tales
Whisper your tales, in the space
between life and death,
O broken soul,
for you know not which
part of it, shall be a healing balm to
the other. Which of the scars, like
a seed, would sprout and
grow, in the heart of the
other, with the force of a
promise, rummaging in our souls, lulling
the heart. You know not, O brave soul,
who would be restored,
by your informed scars,
and for whom, it shall
a moral compass be. And for whom,
your tale shall be its last dream,
breaking the illusion of this world.
Home-in after life
A frosty loneliness,
sculpts the land white,
dripping cold snowdrifts
crawl into her skin. She thinks
of home, blurred, lost
in the map of war. Wailing
memories, at the edge of her
past, whipping at her face, like the
bitter gush of wind. It
scours her homesick soul,
raw- clean, but in the war-torn
land, her body is restless, bleeding,
a hostage to everything
that were forever gone. Far
away from home, she cobbles up in dream.
The urge to return comes
back, each night, like a staggering
drunk, seeking his home. Seasons turn.
Between her two worlds,
there is a lifetime. Her world
in exile, smells of the wet soil of her land.
It sweeps over her being.
Towards it, she runs. Drugged in
her dreams. Home. Is that real? Or, may be
real only in afterlife?